![Channeling Spirits with V.D. Cards, or, Why We Didn't Make It to the [Medicinal] Cannibus Cup in L.A.](/images/c/channelingspiritswithvdcards.gif)
It was actually Lindsey who alerted me to the fact that the 10$ gift card to Self Serve was not a coupon for soft-serve ice cream...
This didn't help to relieve me of any self-consciousness about my maladroit approach to collect. When Lindsey opened the tiny valentine I received at the entrance table, she gasped and smiled with an evil chagrin.
"Did you see this yet?"
"No. They said it was a dirty valentine."
"Here, look."
"I was trying to avoid this part..."
I'm not sure if the guy was wearing Afro Sheen or not. As far as I could tell he wasn't wearing shit because in the middle of the card was an ungodly erect cock, one that could make the securest-member-swinging-motherfucker look at his junk and shake his head in shame. Thank God the card wasn't fit to scale or else I'd been arrested for carrying it in my pocket on the bus. A lethal weapon in the wrong hands to be sure.
Spending the majority of our wedding anniversary by myself, when I showed up at her work, Lindsey was enthused to get off and listen to the notes from Winnings Coffee. While waiting for her to finish up, I began thinking about how there's nothing better than anniversary sex, N-O-T-H-I-N-G. I began viewing my life on the weighted tables of fuck vs. fucking up. I started tallying up all that we had spent that week (don't ask) vs. the number of times we had made love over the course of our marriage (2 years= 48 months: approx: 2 times a day for 3 weeks out of the year=42 fucks a month: 42 fucks times 48 months= approx. 2,016 times- fuck). You don't really think about these things most of the time, but when you step back and count the entries... it makes sense this whole married-couples-having-more-sex-than-single-people* thing.
Surrounded by all manner of kinky expression, I started fantasizing about the numerous positions we found ourselves in- those financial blunders and inopportune moments to fuck, and when we did fuck and when we had enough money, and what we did with the money, fucking in this or that city, fucking indoors and outdoors, above level and below level, the bottomed out bank accounts and the impending mortgage crisis, the way she wiggles her toes in my direction when she wants me to take off my shirt and "lay down". I feel like I'm the one with exquisite breasts sometimes—when she demands I take off my shirt, and she makes me feel like I have great tits for sure, big triple D gazongas that she holds like her own...
In the macrocosm of our existence lies the gender-neutral wardrobe we wear, that of appreciation for fucking and fucking up. Non-convention in every sense, all angles to the perpendicular laterals. Side A: the fucking. Side B: fucking up. 90 degrees from making a full rotation at all—TIME!
* "Oral sex is also more common among married people."
